


Comme un ange qui se dévoile

by La_Prima_Donna



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables (Movie 1978), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence - Javert lives, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, French, French poetry, Javert Lives, Javjean, Kind of meta, M-sur-M, M/M, Madeleine Era, Montreuil-sur-Mer, Mostly fluff though, Old love poems, Poems, Poetry, Post-Canon, Post-Seine, Songfic, Victor Hugo - Freeform, collection, oneshots, poemfic, valvert - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9299939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Prima_Donna/pseuds/La_Prima_Donna
Summary: A collection of short oneshots, each based on an old love poem. Every one is Valvert. The chapters are in no particular order. The poem on which the chapter is based on is included in each chapter, as well as a translation if needed. Title a line from the Victor Hugo poem used in chapter 1. Enjoy!





	1. Mon bras pressait ta taille frêle

Chapter 1: Mon bras pressait ta taille frêle

Original text (French):

Mon bras pressait ta taille frêle  
Et souple comme le roseau ;  
Ton sein palpitait comme l'aile  
D'un jeune oiseau.

Longtemps muets, nous contemplâmes  
Le ciel où s'éteignait le jour.  
Que se passait-il dans nos âmes ?  
Amour ! Amour !

Comme un ange qui se dévoile,  
Tu me regardais, dans ma nuit,  
Avec ton beau regard d'étoile,  
Qui m'éblouit.

(Written by Victor Hugo)

X

English Translation:

My arm pressed your thin waist,  
And supple like the reed;  
Your breast palpitated like the wing  
Of a young bird.

Long mute, we contemplated  
The sky where the day extinguished itself.  
What was happening in our souls?  
Love! Love!

Like an angel revealing themselves,  
You looked at me, in my night,  
With your beautiful starry look,  
That dazzled me.

(Translation by me)

XXX

"Are you absolutely certain of this, Javert?" Valjean asked, stopping his friend.

"If you ask me another time, I fear I shall throw you into the river," Javert snapped, walking ahead.

Valjean sighed. Javert was joking, in his bizarre way. If only the man could understand his concerns… Valjean started to walk again, following his friend from a few paces behind.

The sun had set not long ago, and the streets were quite empty. Being out at night made Valjean nervous; just another remnant of his past. Perhaps it was these nerves that caused him to worry for Javert, nothing more.

Or perhaps he had reason to fear. That June night, although months behind them, was still fresh in his mind like a recent nightmare. No doubt the nightmare was even more terrible to Javert...

But the man was unreadable. He walked a metre or so ahead of Valjean, posture straight as ever, pace even, boots clicking authoritatively against the pavement as he walked. Javert could be feeling anything then. Or nothing at all.

But Valjean noticed the little falter in his step as Javert rounded the final corner and saw the river Seine for the first time since that night.

"Here we are," Javert pointed out.

"Indeed," muttered Valjean.

The inspector looked back at his friend. "Come, let us get closer," he said, and began walking away again. Valjean followed faithfully.

When Javert reached the edge of the bridge, he simply stood, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring out at the water. Valjean settled beside him, hands on the railing in front of him.

Below the two men, the Seine rushed by, roaring like a great beast. Valjean shuddered as he remembered braving those rapids, diving after the inspector, hauling Javert's soaked, unconscious body onto dry land…

Without intending to, Valjean's forearm found its way to Javert's thin waist, resting there comfortably.

"Valjean, you do not need to hold me," Javert muttered indignantly. But there was an unmistakable shake in his deep voice; the slightest indication that Javert did indeed feel fear…

Valjean looked to his friend with concern. Javert was glaring back, but Valjean noticed the remarkable decrease in the look's potency.

"Javert," he tried.

"What?"

"You… you are afraid, are you not?"

"A-afraid? Of what?"

"Of this place."

"It is just a river, Valjean."

"We both know that is not true."

Javert looked down. "It is just a river," he grumbled with far too much conviction.

Valjean sighed, giving up on the matter for the moment. He intended to remove the arm from Javert's waist, but he found that he did not want to.

The two men looked out, watching the river, watching the sky. Valjean quickly managed to forget the night after the barricades, and he settled into a kind of contentment.

"It's a beautiful night tonight," Valjean said.

"Hmm."

"Do you like looking at the stars, Javert?"

"Yes, very much," Javert answered.

"Really? I never thought you were one to enjoy such things."

"I used see the stars as… protectors. Guardians of the night sky, keeping watch over me."

"Ah."

"But that night, I swear, I looked out and the stars were dark and cold… they had forsaken me…" Javert's voice was shaking. Valjean looked to his friend, and noticed that Javert was hunched over, trembling.

"Javert… You are shaking! We ought to go," Valjean said, grabbing Javert's shoulder and attempting to lead the younger man away, but the inspector was rooted to the ground.

"No, Valjean, I must stop this foolishness. I should not be afraid," Javert protested.

"It is only natural to be afraid, after all that has happened here–"

"–I will stay, until I am no longer such a fool," Javert spat.

"Very well," Valjean said, letting go of the other man and resuming his previous position, leaning against the railing. Out of the corner of his eye, the older man observed his friend as he stared blankly out over the water, his jaw set and his fists clenched at his sides.

"Look, Javert," Valjean said, in the kind of voice he used to speak to Cosette when she cried, "isn't that the big dipper?" Valjean pointed to a clump of stars that he knew was most definitely not the big dipper.

"No, Valjean, I believe the big dipper is over there," Javert corrected, pointing to the left of where his friend had pointed.

"Ah, okay," Valjean said in the same exaggerated tone. "You see, I am not very knowledgeable in this area… would you care to enlighten me?"

Javert looked at Valjean and raised an eyebrow. "You want me to tell you about the stars?"

Valjean smiled and nodded. "Yes, please do!"

Javert cleared his throat. "Well, alright. Yes, um, that is the big dipper, and right over there is the little dipper, and just to the left is…" Javert listed off names of constellations Valjean had never heard of, pointing to each of them, and sometimes following this with a story of the name. Valjean found it hard to make sense of it, so he eventually stopped trying, and simply watched his friend as he talked. He noted with great happiness that Javert had ceased to tremble, and was now simply lost in his rambling, gesturing and speaking with great passion. Valjean smiled, despite himself. His plan had worked; Javert was happy, and this made him happy. And Javert was a very different man when he was happy; his face shed decades, his usually piercing blue eyes alight with excitement… Although this may have just been the starlight.

Yes, it seemed as much as Javert loved the stars, the stars loved him. The light danced in his eyes and gave his long chestnut hair a shimmering appearance. It was as if the stars shone from Javert himself.

"What are you looking at?"

Valjean shrugged. "You."

Javert snorted. "What about me is worth looking at with that idiot grin?"

"I'm sorry, I cannot help it."

"Really, Valjean, you're reminding me of your daughter's dolt of a husband. Stop this at once."

Valjean laughed, far more than he should have at such a statement. This earned a raised eyebrow from Javert. "Valjean, are you well?"

Valjean shook his head, grinning widely. "I am happy, Javert. I am very happy."

"Why?"

Valjean looked to Javert; those familiar features, once fearsome and now beautiful; those bright, starlit eyes; the moonlight illuminating the brim of his hat and shining like a halo. And Valjean cupped one of Javert's fuzzy cheeks, stood on his toes and kissed him, square on the lips. When Valjean at last pulled away, he laughed. He laughed at his own foolishness, at the whole situation, at the expression on Javert's face.

Finally, the other man laughed too, a sound rusty from disuse, but jolly just the same.

"Valjean, you old fool…" Javert chuckled. Valjean had never heard a compliment so sweet.

XXX

The two men stood a long time in silence, staring over the water. Valjean's arm had snuck back to Javert's waist, now under his coat, holding the taller man close.

"Valjean?" muttered the inspector.

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear anything I said earlier?"

"Not a word."

"So you were too busy gawking at me to even pay attention?"

Valjean laughed. "Yes."

"Fool," Javert snapped, malice absent from his tone.

"But it worked, didn't it?" Valjean said.

"What worked?"

"Getting you to talk to me. You are no longer afraid."

"Hmm… You are right. I suppose I should thank you."

"It is my pleasure, Javert."

"But, Javert," Valjean asked, looking up at the other man.

"What?"

"Will you tell me about the stars again someday?"

"Will you listen?"

"If you cease to look so beautiful in the starlight, perhaps," Valjean avowed, smiling.

Javert chuckled. "You are insufferable."

Javert accepted Valjean's following kiss nonetheless.


	2. Psyché

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this! I am ecstatic to know that people are reading and enjoying this! Thanks a lot for the reads and the kudos; I hope you all continue to enjoy this– whatever this is. 
> 
> For the next chapter, we have a poem that's technically not a poem; it's an excerpt from a play by Corneille and Molière, based on the tale of Cupid and Psyche. I actually came across this text because I found an absolutely gorgeous musical setting of it by a French composer named Émile Paladhile (rhyming name, hahaha). I would 100% recommend listening to it if you like art songs and beautiful piano intros. 
> 
> Without further ado, here's the next chapter!
> 
> -BWR

Original Text (French):

Je suis jaloux, Psyché, de toute la nature:  
Les rayons du soleil vous baisent trop souvent;  
Vos cheveux souffrent trop les caresses du vent:  
Dès qu’il les flatte, j'en murmure;  
L'air même que vous respirez  
Avec trop de plaisir passe sur votre bouche;  
Votre habit de trop près vous touche;  
Et sitôt que vous soupirez,  
Je ne sais quoi qui m'effarouche;  
Craint, parmi vos soupirs, des soupirs égarés.

(Written by Corneille)

X

English Translation:

I am jealous, Psyché, of all of nature:  
The sun’s rays kiss you too often;  
Your hair suffers too often the wind’s caresses;  
As soon as it [the wind] caresses it [your hair], I murmur;  
Even the air that you breathe  
With too much pleasure passes over your mouth;  
Your clothes touch you too closely;  
And as soon as you sigh,  
I don't know what it is that startles me;  
I dread, amidst your sighs, your distracted sighs.

(Translation by me)

 

XXX

Javert admires Madeleine greatly. This he will admit. Monsieur Madeleine is a man who excels at both business and politics, while remaining kind and fair. The Mayor is a man of God, a good Christian; he prays often and is overwhelmingly charitable. It is true that Madeleine could be too kind on occasion, too lenient… but Javert could usually ignore this fault. After all, the Mayor is his superior. It was not his place to judge.

Javert likes the mayor very much. He has rarely liked anyone, so this is bizarre in itself. It was shocking at first, when Javert realized he was feeling something other than cold indifference coupled with necessary respect towards Madeleine. However, the mayor is such a perfect man that Javert could not find a reason not to like Madeleine. 

As soon as Javert accepted this sound logic, he began to enjoy the presence of Monsieur Madeleine without guilt or confusion. And he very much enjoys the man’s company. Madeleine is always so kind, polite, and mild-mannered, and never fails to smile his wonderfully charming smile. Javert always finds it difficult to leave when he finishes giving a report to the Mayor, but always leaves promptly anyway, not wanting to take up any more of the man’s precious time. 

Luckily, Javert runs into Madeleine on the streets as well. He could greet the mayor and ask about his day; exchange a few words and bask in the man’s attention.

In fact, when Javert is not receiving Madeleine's attention, he becomes very upset. When he sees the Mayor smiling at someone else the way he smiles at Javert, the inspector becomes sour. He knows not why, but he refuses to investigate into his own thought, lest he realize he was jealous of almost everything that touched Madeleine. The sunlight, even, that sparkles in Madeleine’s soft brown eyes when he smiles, makes Javert uncomfortable. And when the mayor has been outside without a hat, Javert can always tell because his hair is mussed by the wind. The inspector longs for nothing more than to follow the wind’s path with his fingers and return the man’s hair to order. For the good of the mayor, obviously. 

Javert often wishes to touch the Mayor. He wishes to kiss him, primarily, but he wishes also to touch the firm muscles that strain against the sleeves of Monsieur Madeleine's fine shirts. Clothes seem too tight on him, and Javert finds himself wishing he could hold Madeleine that closely. 

After thinking a while, Javert realized there was one thing he can not stand about Madeleine. The man has a habit of taking great pauses to think, and finishing them by heaving a great sigh. Javert knows not why he is so disturbed by this habit, but he knows that every sigh of Madeleine's stirs him in ways he does not understand. He blushes at each absent huff of breath, a jolt running down his spine. He dreads telling Madeleine important news, knowing that the mayor will react with one of his infamous sighs. But Javert is taken by some unknown force and wants nothing more than to hear Madeleine’s sigh, and to know that he was the one to cause it…

Javert puts up with Madeleine’s strange habit because he respects him; nothing more.


	3. Après un rêve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter! This one is angsty. Those two statements are directly related. I very much dislike writing angst; I just want everyone to be happy. However, this poem was just too perfect. I forced myself to write this chapter, and I'm not even sure it's very good. Here it is, regardless.
> 
> P.S. There's an absolutely gorgeous setting of this poem by Fauré (one of my favourite composers). Here is a link to a really good version of it. It will make you far sadder than this chapter will. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VD_2GOHVCjM

Chapter 3: Après un rêve

Original text (French):

Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image   
Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage,  
Tes yeux étaient plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,  
Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l'aurore;

Tu m'appelais et je quittais la terre  
Pour m'enfuir avec toi vers la lumière,  
Les cieux pour nous entr'ouvraient leurs nues,  
Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entrevues,

Hélas! Hélas! triste réveil des songes  
Je t'appelle, ô nuit, rends moi tes mensonges,  
Reviens, reviens radieuse,  
Reviens ô nuit mystérieuse!  
(Written by Romaine Bussine)

X

English Translation:

In a slumber that charmed your image  
I dreamed of happiness in an ardent mirage,  
Your eyes were softer, your voice pure and sonorous,   
You radiated like a sky illuminated by dawn;

You called for me and I left the Earth  
To escape with you towards the light  
The heavens, for us, opened up their skies  
Unknown splendours, divine glows meeting,

Alas! Alas! sad awakening of dreams  
I call for you, O night, give me back your lies,  
Come back, come back, radiant one,   
Come back, O mysterious night!

(Translation by me) 

XXX

“Jean,” the familiar voice muttered softly.

But that voice would never call him by his first name, let alone in that tone. That voice would spit his last name at him with all the hatred he could muster, or, likelier yet, his old prison number. Skeptical, Jean Valjean kept his eyes closed. 

“Jean, open your eyes!” the voice asked of him, gently. A long-fingered hand stroked his bearded cheek. Valjean obeyed. 

Somehow, the figure looking down on him was indeed Javert. But how different he was now… He was in every way the same, but yet… His hair was not tied neatly back in its usual queue; instead it was falling past his shoulders, shiny locks of deep brown blowing in a gentle wind Valjean couldn’t feel. The more Valjean looked, the more Javert seemed to be glowing; his tanned skin looked healthy and soft, and his eyes… his brilliant blue eyes, once piercing and intimidating, were gentle, so gentle and kind. Most surprising was that Javert was genuinely smiling. Valjean had rarely seen this man smile, and if he did, it was a terrible, sarcastic thing, not at all like what he saw now. Valjean couldn’t help but smile back.

“Javert…” he said, speaking the name with longing, with admiration, with all of the emotion he had always wanted to share but never could. 

“Jean,” replied the other man, his voice holding the same weight that Valjean’s did. 

Valjean thought for the first time since he’d opened his eyes just now about something other than the inspector. “Where are we?” he asked. He was lying down, his head resting comfortably on Javert’s lap. Other than that, all he could process was a hazy white surrounding them. 

“We’re almost in heaven,” answered Javert, still smiling, as he caressed Valjean’s grey hair. 

“Almost in– what?” Valjean asked. 

Javert laughed. Not the harsh laugh of the cynical old inspector, no; this laugh was sweet, and made Valjean warm with content. “Confusing, I know, but it doesn’t matter. We need not be here any longer. Come, Jean.” 

The inspector gently lifted Valjean’s head off of his lap until the older man was sitting as well. “Come? Where?”

Javert touched an arm to Valjean’s shoulder, pointing over Valjean’s head with the other.

“Do you see that light?” Javert asked. 

Valjean looked where the other man was pointing. “Yes.”

“If we move towards that light, we’ll be in heaven.”

Valjean turned to Javert, his eyes wide with awe. “We will?”

Javert nodded. “Together.” He faltered for a moment. “If that is what you want, that is.”

The ex-convict smiled, grasping the inspector’s hands in his own. “Of course I want to, Javert! I want to come with you!”

Javert smiled back, bringing their joined hands to his mouth to kiss Valjean’s. “Please, follow me.”

The inspector got up, helping Valjean to rise with him, although the older man found that it had never been easier to stand; it was as if he was being lifted upwards by some invisible force. 

And then he was standing, but he was still rising, still floating upwards. Javert was just ahead, looking back on him and smiling, his fingers brushing against Valjean's as they floated upwards, upwards still, towards that divine light. Jean felt so wonderful, so peaceful, so happy… So perfectly happy. He smiled, matching the joy on Javert’s face. The light was closer, brighter. His eyes closed, and then, suddenly…

Suddenly, there was nothing at all.

Nothing but the dull warmth of his hard bed beneath his body.

Javert was gone.

Valjean began to cry. He wept, feeling the tears slide out of his eyes, catching in his beard. Gravity pulled his tears over his temples, leaving an unpleasant wet sensation in his ears. He didn't care.

Of all the tortures Valjean had endured in his life, loving Javert was likely the worst. In Toulon, the affair was that of a prisoner lusting after a young guard. In Montreuil-Sur-Mer, it was of a mayor falling in love with his Inspector. Afterwards, when Javert found out about Madeleine’s true identity, it was of an ex-convict hopelessly in love with a man who hated him more than anything. 

And now, it was the most tragic it had ever been. The ex-convict loved a dead man, a man that he had saved, only for him to end his own life minutes later. 

Valjean had always ached to be close to Javert. He had always wished he could comfort him, hold him in his arms and see him smile. He wished he could make Javert happy.

He never could.

Javert died in misery.

It was his fault, wasn't it? He was the one who caused Javert to jump.

It was only right that he should spend the rest of his days in miserable solitude, dreaming of Javert, the man that he never had, never deserved.

Still, he wept.

Please, he begged in silence, let me sleep. Let me live in my dreams and never wake up. 

Let me die.


	4. Chanson d'amour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for abandoning this fic for so long! I was working on Jean Madeleine's Yoga Academy, and then, once I'd finished that, I really didn't have any Valvert muse.
> 
> This one is ridiculously fluffy. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4: Chanson d’amour

 

Original text (French):   
  


J'aime tes yeux, j'aime ton front,

O ma rebelle, ô ma farouche.

J'aime tes yeux, j'aime ta bouche,

Où mes baisers s'épuiseront.

 

J'aime ta voix, j'aime l'étrange 

Grâce de tout ce que tu dis,

O ma rebelle, ô mon cher ange,

Mon enfer et mon paradis!

 

J'aime tout ce qui te fait belle,

De tes pieds jusqu'à tes cheveux,

O toi vers qui monte mes vœux,

O ma farouche, ô ma rebelle!

 

(Written by Armand Silvestre)

 

X

 

English Translation:

 

I love your eyes, I love your brow,

O, my rebel, my wild one.

I love your eyes, I love your mouth,

Where all my kisses will be used up.

 

I love your voice, I love the strange

Grace of all that you say,

O, my rebel, o my dear angel,

My hell and my heaven!

 

I love all that makes you beautiful,

From your feet all the way to your hair,

O you towards whom my wishes rise,

O my wild one, o my rebel!

 

(Translation by Me)

 

XXX

 

Javert fixed his reflection in the mirror, frowning. His uniform was as perfectly proper as ever, but something still seemed... off. As he considered this, he realized that his uniform wasn’t the problem at all; it was the body within that was ruining everything. He was somehow too thin and too fat all at once. He had always been thin, but now Valjean was overfeeding him. All the weight had gone to his stomach and rear and left his arms and legs skinny. His face was even worse; the tanned skin that betrayed his foreignness was now lined with deep creases, especially between his eyebrows and around his mouth– from all his years of constant scowling, of course. He was fifty-three, now. An old man, an overripe fruit starting to rot. Javert certainly looked the part. He sighed. Even his hair was starting to go grey– there was a cluster of silver strands at his hairline, and, no matter how hard he tried, he could not find a way to hide them. His hair was currently tied back in its usual queue, fasted with a plain black ribbon. Javert hated the barber so much that he couldn't even remember the last time he’d been to one. He’d never seen a reason to pay someone to shave him when he could do it just as well himself, and he simply never felt like cutting his hair. He almost liked his hair, in fact. He had not cut it in so long that his hair reached his mid back. Valjean seemed to like his hair, too, Javert recalled with a flush of happiness. Many times since the start of their unlikely relationship, Valjean would run his fingers through the lengths of dark brown, massage Javert’s scalp. Javert would shiver at the gentle touch that he wasn't used to, enjoying this attention that was new to him. Javert sighed again. Would Valjean still touch his hair like that when it became thin and grey? 

 

“What are you sighing about, love?”

 

It was Valjean who spoke. He was sitting at the desk by the window, reading a book. Though he was talking to Javert, he was still looking at its pages.

 

“It’s nothing,” Javert grumbled.

 

“You’re not one to be upset over nothing.”

 

“I’m not upset,” the inspector insisted through clenched teeth. 

 

Now it was Valjean’s turn to sigh. He slipped a ribbon bookmark into his book and closed it before he pushed back his chair. Valjean stood and made his way towards his lover in slow strides. “You can’t fool me with that,” he said fondly as he lay a hand on Javert’s left shoulder.

 

“It’s really of no importance, Valjean.”

 

Valjean’s hand drifted to the inspector’s waist as he moved to press himself to Javert’s side. Javert watched this in the mirror, and he wanted to frown even deeper. Valjean was 66, but it was really only the grey-white colour of his hair and beard that gave his age away. That and the prominent crow’s feet; just as Javert had his wrinkles from scowling all the time, Valjean’s had formed from how often he smiled. Valjean had always been attractive, and not only to Javert. He was one of those people who is simply undeniably good-looking. His face was as symmetrical as a face could be expected to be, and his build was formidable. He had muscles that were visible through his shirts and his jackets, even in his old age. Valjean wasn’t tall – he only came up to Javert’s jaw – but that didn’t detract from his handsomeness in any way. In Montreuil-Sur-Mer, Javert had been forced to watch ladies of various ages and classes attempting to flirt with him. Some of them had been very beautiful themselves, enough so that Javert wondered why the mayor never courted any of them. Now, he understood. He understood as soon as he felt Valjean’s lips on his own, Valjean’s muscled arms holding him against his solid chest, Valjean touching him in ways that would make those ladies blush. Now he knew why Valjean didn't want a woman, but why would he want Javert, of all men? Javert, who was nowhere near as attractive as Valjean, on the outside nor on the inside. 

 

“You’re clearly bothered, so it must be important to you,” Valjean told him.

 

Javert sighed once more. He knew that there was no way to weasel his way out of this, not with Valjean. “I’m simply annoyed that I am so ugly, that is all.”

 

“Ugly?!” Valjean repeated, as if Javert had just told him he’d seen a unicorn. “Javert, that’s outrageous!”   
  


“It’s really not. Look at me, Valjean.”   
  
“I  _ am _ looking at you. And I see a very handsome gentleman who I am ever so fortunate to call my own.” 

 

Javert scoffed. “There is no point in flattery. Honestly. Even my eyes are ugly. They’re too light. Perhaps if I had darker eyes, I would be more tolerable to look at.”

 

Valjean shook his head. “No, Javert. Your eyes are not ugly, and they are not too bright. They are the most beautiful shade of blue that I have ever seen. I never get tired of looking at them.”

 

Javert rolled the aforementioned eyes. The inspector liked to pretend he didn’t find Valjean’s sappiness subtly endearing. “Fine, then. What about these awful lines on my brow and on my forehead?” 

 

“Those aren’t awful. They’re simply a sign that you’ve grown up. Besides, I personally am very fond of your lines and wrinkles. I think they give you character.” 

 

Javert raised his eyebrows at this. “Really, well... What about my lips, then. They’re thin and they’re always dry.”

 

Valjean laughed fondly. “Still trying to argue that you’re ugly? My little rebel. Well, Javert, your lips are certainly not unattractive, either. They’re perfect for kissing.”

 

Javert smirked a little against his will.

 

“I think I’ll have to spend all my allotted kisses on you.” He moved so he was in front of Javert before he stood on his toes to give Javert a short peck on the lips. 

 

The younger man couldn’t help but smile at this. “How many kisses do you have left?” 

 

Valjean played with Javert’s cravat. “Many, many kisses.”   
  


Javert leaned down and kissed Valjean in return.

 

“You know what else I find attractive about you?” Valjean asked when they broke away.

 

“What, Valjean?”

 

“Your voice. It’s so deep and rich and powerful, and yet it can be so calming to me when you speak softly.”

 

Javert smiled. “Really? That’s certainly interesting.”

 

Valjean nodded. “It calms me, or, well, it excites me– depending, of course, on your choice of words and tone.”

 

“Excites you?” Javert asked with a raised eyebrow.

  
  
The older man chuckled. “Yes, my angel. It does.”

 

Javert kissed him again. “Is there  _ anything _ that you find ugly about me?” he asked, “My huge nose? My bony legs? My dark skin? Anything at all?” Javert was almost no longer interested in his own ugliness– he simply loved hearing Valjean’s compliments. 

 

Valjean shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing at all. I love every part of you, from your head to your toes. No part of you could ever be ugly to me.”

 

Javert stared again at his reflection. He still didn’t quite see how he was attractive, but he didn’t care much now. To Valjean, he was perfection, he was loved. And that was what really mattered.


End file.
